Hmm...yes. Birthdays. Even though we celebrated last Saturday, today is the real one.
It was 2:30 AM. I fell to sleep as I was trying to remember if my mom had ever mentioned what time I was born. She did say that I arrived very quickly, making my appearance on the elevator ride towards the delivery room, but if she told me the time, I’ve forgotten. Not that it matters; I’m here anyway, and I’ve been here one more year today.
If I was still a child living on the farm, I would be very excited this morning. There were always a few friends who were invited to my birthday party. We would play games outside under the watchful eye of my foster mother, who we called Grandma, then gather around a table to drink Freshie (a brand of Kool-Aid) and eat small sandwiches with crusts removed for the occasion.
The pièce de resistance was the cake; a round, layered white cake with sweet, coloured icing, crowned with little candles to be lit at the last minute. Surrounded by joyous sound of voices singing the birthday song, I’d close my eyes, make my wish, and blow as hard as I could to put them ALL out! Being in the place of honor insured me the first slice, but I knew I had to wait until the others were served before even thinking of taking a bite. In any case, all of us would use our forks to search for the coins which we would find in each piece. Pennies mostly, a couple of nickels, maybe a dime or two, but the coveted prize was the one quarter that had been inserted between the baking and the decorating. Finding the quarter made you King or Queen for the moment and merited applause from the group. One could buy many things with a quarter in those days. With all the present hype on health and hygiene, I can’t help but wonder how many eyebrows would be raised about that practice now. I wouldn’t be surprised if Grandma hadn’t thought to wash those coins before they were put into the cake. I do know they were cleaned afterwards by children putting them in mouths and sucking off every crumb.
The party would only last a couple of hours. Farmers have work that must be done, and children, unless you were the birthday girl, were not excluded. While the others were dispersed to do the daily chores, I was allowed to curl up somewhere with the new book I had received as a gift. There would always be one; my reputation for love of reading was well known even then.
Simpler things for simpler times; there were no clowns, nor hired pony rides, nor magicians, nor days out at a MickeyD’s or amusement parks. Gifts were often homemade, as was the food. We had just as much fun, and the memories are maybe more precious, because parties were a rare and special occasion then; not so much the ongoing events that many kids seem to thrive on today.
Before I get to sounding too much like an old fogey...my plan for the day is the minimum of office work, a start on sorting what to keep and not to keep from the closets and, for old time’s sake, some quiet hours with a good book.
I’ll be wearing my Birthday SMILE, and it’s a biggie!! Sending you your share...!
Luv from the Bush in Quebec.
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